Deja Vu
by screennameless
Summary: After all, it is documented phenomena: people leave your life and return in a fashion not entirely dissimilar to the way they once entered. And that fortune-teller had been right about the pots. Post-series. No pairings.


It isn't such a strange thing, really.

People leave your life and return in a fashion not entirely dissimilar to the way they once entered. Circumstances cycle, much in the manner of tea leaves and tarot cards. This is documented phenomena.

So when Jin ducked through a doorway and discovered a disaster zone, it was only to be expected that he would mutter, "You seem to be in the middle of something. Excuse me," and walk back out.

Still, as Mugen jerked wide eyes to the soft-spoken ronin's receding back and sheathed his sword in a man's cranium, he couldn't bring himself to appreciate the sentiment. "Hey!" He kicked the corpse away, glaring out the door after his retreating one-time companion. "HEY!" The pirate stalked to the doorway of the tea-house, blood plip-plopping from the blade. "Oi! Get back here, you bast—"

He stepped into the sunlight and jerked back, steel glinting at his neck. Jin's glasses flashed at the end of the hilt, the samurai's back to the doorframe. "Tch. Sloppy."

Mugen curled his lip back from his teeth, nostrils flaring. "Yeah? And what, you're hiding behind doors now instead of coming at me like a man? Fuckin' fish-face."

Jin held his pose for a pointed moment, then sheathed his katana, his stance relaxing. "Hn. I see you haven't changed."

"Feh," Mugen sneered. "Look who's talking." All the same, his free hand slid into his pocket, and his shoulders hunched in a comfortable slouch. He let the tip of his blade drop to the ground, bleeding out in the dust.

They stood in the doorway, assessing each other for metamorphosis and finding nothing: No weight or hair loss evident, no lack of appendages or limbs, no obvious shifts in outlook or expression. Still red, still blue; still tattooed, still bespectacled.

"So," Jin said, "what led you to repeat history?"

A muscle twitched at the corner of Mugen's mouth, displeased. He spat between their feet and scuffed dirt over the remains. "I just wanted some fuckin' food," he answered. "But every time I walk into a tea house, some asshole's gotta pick a fight."

The ronin maintained a remarkably straight face. "I presume you refer to yourself."

Mugen swung his sword up to Jin's collarbone. His voice emerged from somewhere low. "You wanna go, too?"

Cocking a brow, Jin pressed on the blade with two fingertips. Though the pirate's expression never wavered, he allowed the sword to be eased away, slowly. They stared each other down, applying equal pressure. Finally, Jin adjusted his glasses with his free hand, his fingers stilling Mugen's weapon. "In truth," he said, "I thought it might have been the advertisement for a bodyguard by the door."

Mugen scowled, but his blade dropped back to the dirt. "Shut up, smart-ass. As if you weren't here for it, too."

Jin's lip quirked, but he fell silent. The two men watched a few townspeople pass at a safe distance. Mugen spat again and sheathed his sword, and his words came quiet:

"Turns out it was a yakuza job, anyway."

And thus the dead bodies beyond the doorway.

Jin's face softened as he watched Mugen's body crumple at the waist, all thin lines and sharp angles, the pirate's eyes dropping to the dirt. Finally, the ronin dipped his head. "Hnn."

Mugen snorted reflexively. The two of them exchanged looks that might have been considered fond. Then the pirate pushed himself off the wall of the tea house, kicking up dust. "Welp," he announced, "I'm still hungry." He turned his back, lifting one hand as a curt goodbye, and made to walk down the road.

A pale, slim hand clapped on his shoulder. Mugen glanced back at Jin in time to see the ronin jingle a purse in his spare hand. "I'll pay," he offered, maintaining a remarkably straight face. Mugen managed to make his grin appear lascivious as he snatched for the ryo.

After all, it is documented phenomena: people leave your life and return in a fashion not entirely dissimilar to the way they once entered. And that fortune-teller had been right about the pots.

So it wasn't such a strange thing, really – trying to engineer déjà vu.

* * *

><p><em>Sudden inspiration struck, and thus I wrote.<em>

_I decided to experiment with my narrative voice this go 'round. Usually, my style is very... cinematic, I suppose? I treat the narrator like a camera following the characters around; something not so much omniscient as it is omnipresent, showing everything you can physically see and hear. This narrator is a little more invasive, capable of "telling" occasionally, as it were. I found this extremely useful for the nuances in Jin and Mugen's less "honest" expressions. I suppose it hasn't deviated overmuch from my usual, though._

_Let me know what you think, and as always, thanks for reading._


End file.
